


MIA

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 03:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Tauriel reports poor progress.





	MIA

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The guard outside the king’s door doesn’t question her approach—he steps aside and turns his head away. As captain of the guards, Tauriel has leave to go anywhere that she should wish, and it’s commonplace for her to have business with the king. She doesn’t usually bring such business up so early in the morning, and even less often within his private bedchambers, but given that this is the fifth morning where she’s had the same problem, she can’t ignore it any longer. She doesn’t even want to wait until later in the day when the king might be at his throne, because unless there’s business already scheduled, there’s no guarantee that he will go to his throne at all. He could possibly, and he has every right to, wile the day away in his own quarters, drinking wine and summoning his servants to him.

Tauriel still sucks in a breath to steady herself before she knocks on the heavy oak door. A muffled noise on the other side seems to grant her entrance. With her head held deliberately high, Tauriel pushes through and takes care to close the door behind her. 

Her king is in his bed, sitting up against the headboard with the silken sheets and thick duvets pulled over his lap. The blankets are unmade, piled high in certain lumps and spilling over the edge. His crown rests on the night side table, the day’s robes draped over a chair beside his desk. His white-gold hair cascades smoothly down his broad shoulders, covering large swathes of his toned chest, but the rest of him is thoroughly exposed. Tauriel fights to suppress the blush in her cheeks. Her king is a handsome man—a _very_ handsome man—and there’s no reason for him to find shame in his body. He has every right to be naked in his bed. Yet she wishes he was fully clothed right up to the collar, because then the room wouldn’t feel quite so hot. 

King Thranduil lifts one dark brow, and Tauriel snaps to life, sweeping down into a low bow. She waits a beat before rising. Then she announces, “I am sorry to disturb you, my king. But I felt I must inform you that two of my guards have failed to report for duty. For young Meludir, this is not the first time.”

She expects a steely look and an immediate call for Meludir’s dismissal. Thranduil isn’t known for tolerating inefficiency in his troops. Instead, he waves his hand, still adorned with a multitude of elaborate rings, and tells her, “Do not let it trouble you.”

Tauriel blinks, unsure she heard correctly. When the king says no more, she slowly explains, “But this is his fifth offense. I have as high standards for my underlings as you do for me.”

Thranduil says nothing at first, simply staring levelly at her. Tauriel shifts uncomfortably onto the other foot and struggles to keep her eyes on his face. 

After a long moment, he sighs, “Meludir, you really should say when you are supposed to be guarding my kingdom.”

To Tauriel’s utter shock, the blankets rustle, and a familiar bundle of honey-coloured hair emerges from them. Meludir only pokes out to the shoulder, but she can see from that that he’s at least shirtless. He looks up at his king with big eyes under batting lashes and purrs, “I am sorry, my king, but when you called for me, I simply could not refuse...”

Thranduil snorts. Surely if he’d known that Meludir was scheduled to work, he would have at least arranged for a replacement with Tauriel. But instead of scolding Meludir further, he simply reaches down and affectionately scratches beneath Meludir’s chin. Meludir mewls like a cat and nuzzles adoringly into Thranduil’s side. 

Swallowing a large lump in her throat, Tauriel tries to change the subject. “Feren has also proven tardy before, and now...”

The blankets on the other side of Thranduil’s lap shift, and sure enough, Feren emerges. His hair is more matted than his king’s, and his bare shoulders show signs of perspiration. He murmurs, “I also apologize.”

Thranduil shakes his head and sighs, “Galion, you really should keep track of these things. As much as I enjoy our time together, I would not have them detract from the safety of my realm.”

Thranduil’s faithful butler peaks out from over the edge of the bed. He must’ve been hiding on the floor when she came in. The only solace is that Tauriel doesn’t have to worry about her blush anymore—she can feel all the colour draining from her face.

Galion sheepishly shrugs. Thranduil derisively shakes his head and returns his attention to Tauriel. He assures her, “This will not happen again,” then tells her, “pull whoever you should like from my personal retinue for today. Tomorrow, you shall have these two back. Dismissed.”

Tauriel opens her mouth but only swallows. It takes a second to manage another stiff bow. She tells him, “Thank you,” and hurriedly escapes before any other hidden lovers can rise up out of the woodwork.


End file.
